A/N: I'm so glad you're still reading this. And I can't tell you how helpful the feedback and reviews are to me.

So thank you again, and I apologize for the longish wait!

Chapter Fourteen: A Memory Come To Light

.o.o.

.o.

I don't know why nobody told you

How to unfold your love

I don't know how someone controlled you

They bought and sold you

I look at the world and I notice it's turning

While my guitar gently weeps

Every mistake, we must surely be learning

Still my guitar gently weeps

Beatles - While My Guitar Gently Weeps

.o.o.

.o.

Sherlock yawned before pouring himself a cup of fresh coffee, letting the aroma fill the flat. He hadn't bothered to take his antidepressants and it felt like a dark black cloud was threatening to rain down on him. He felt a little bit better though when he saw a freshly showered John enter the kitchen to retrieve his own coffee.

The two men met the others' eyes and smiled a small, loving smile before Sherlock spoke. "Molly sent me a text last night saying that it wasn't the antidepressants making me have blackouts. It's… something else…"

John cast a worried, unsure glance in the detective's direction now and took a distracted sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes off of Sherlock's. "Did… she say what that 'something else' could be?"

Sherlock sighed and nervously chewed on his bottom lip, not feeling very keen on talking to John about what could turn out to be absolutely nothing or positively everything. He took a long drink of his coffee to buy his time.

"She said something about… repressed memories being the cause of my blacking out or… it could be just a side-symptom from my depression. I suppose she probably meant something along the lines of a post-traumatic stress disorder," he answered quickly.

John's worry creased in his forehead and he cleared his throat, as he did whenever a topic made him feel scared or uncomfortable. "Right… err… do you think you might know what that repressed memory could be, Sherlock?"

The detective gave him a small smirk. "If I knew what it was, it wouldn't be a repressed memory, would it?"

The doctor sighed and gave him a disapproving look. He set his coffee down before he walked closer to Sherlock. "This isn't something to joke around about. This is serious. Maybe if you could find time to stop being such a smart-arse, we could possibly get you on better antidepressants and figure out why you're blacking out. Are you blacking out when I'm asleep too? I mean, do you black out and then… wake up again somewhere else? Like sleepwalking?"

John's irritation made the dark clouds inside Sherlock rise up from within, answering the silent question that told him he couldn't ever say anything right at the right time. His smirk fell from his face and he swallowed hard. No, he didn't want to talk about this right now. Or possibly ever. He consciously moved away from John and leaned against one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table.

"I'm going to go shower and meet Mycroft for breakfast," Sherlock nearly whispered, desperate to change the subject.

John gave him a sideways look. "It's nearly eleven…"

"Fine, then… late breakfast. I need to get some fresh air."

Sherlock had turned around and started heading towards the bathroom when he felt John gently grab his arm, forcing Sherlock to look at him. "Have you taken your antidepressants today? Have you even eaten?"

Sherlock ripped his arm unnecessarily out of John's grip and felt anger rise to the surface. "No! I have not! I don't plan to take them or eat either so I would appreciate it if you could quit nagging me and get off my back, John!"

The doctor looked at Sherlock with concern again. "Sherlock, you're just angry because you're depressed and it's frustrating you that we can't find the right medication to help you, but we will. You don't need to take it out on me…" John remarked before adding, "You know as well as I do that it's not fair to either of us."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breaths through his nose to calm his anger so he wouldn't lash out again. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before opening them and forcing himself to look back at John. "I can't do this right now… I'm sorry, and I love you, John but I just can't take the questions and the… concern… not right now. I'm going to get ready and I'm going to go meet my brother. I'll be back soon."

John nodded in defeat and watched as Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom. Once he heard the water turn on, he glanced at the clock on the wall and popped in toast for himself before he cleaned up and took off for the hospital.

When Sherlock came out about ten minutes later, a white towel wrapped around his waist, he glanced around the flat out of habit and ducked into his room to get changed. Somehow, it seemed a lot quieter without John around. He supposed it was because John usually did most of the talking for the both of them. Sherlock grabbed his phone suddenly, getting the urge to make sure John wouldn't be angry at him for the one-sided row earlier.

I'm sorry, John. Please forgive me. – SH

He felt reluctant to even apologize but he knew this was what normal couples did after a fight. Once he looked it over a dozen times, he finally hit the send button and set his phone on the bed before he moved over to his closet and picked out clothes to wear.

He was only seeing Mycroft but he didn't want his brother to see what a mental disaster he was. Black dress pants, dress shoes, crimson button down shirt, black dress coat. He had straightened himself out when his phone chirped, demanding his attention.

He picked it up and smirked slightly when he read what John had wrote back:

It's fine, Sherlock. I understand you're going through a rough period right now. Of course I'm not going to remain angry at you. Be nice to your brother. Or at least nice-ish. Stop in at Bart's when you're done? – JW

Sherlock quickly texted back that he would and sent it before pocketing his phone and locked up the flat. He had just opened the door when he saw Mycroft standing expectantly outside, smoking a cigarette.

"Have you grown tired of your Diogenes Club at last?" Sherlock chided as he took this opportunity to smoke as well. He took out his own cigarettes and lit the end before taking a drag from it and glancing at his brother.

Mycroft smiled and knocked the ash off before he looked across the street almost with a bored expression. "I thought it might work better for your depressive state if I came to you for a change. It would seem as if our meetings are becoming increasingly frequent as of late. If you wish, we could even discuss your blackouts a bit more."

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and exhaled the smoke through his nostrils in frustration. "For God's sake, why can't anyone just let me be alone in peace?"

Mycroft took a short drag before he let the cigarette fall to the ground and stepped on it with his shoe. "If we just let you be, then I fear you would no longer be alive. There's three of us, Sherlock; the chances of at least one of us nagging you to take proper care of yourself are fairly good."

Sherlock said nothing but took another drag, letting the nicotine work its magic to relax him. This time it seemed fruitless. Enjoying a cigarette with Mycroft around was just as pointless as drinking a glass of water in a pool. He finally turned back to his brother. "I don't need any of you nagging me. I literally just had this discussion with John. I can do without all of you being bothersome and boring. Anyway, I don't wish to discuss anything relating to me, if it's all the same to you."

Mycroft waited until his younger brother finished off his cigarette before he turned his entire body to face him. "Sherlock, we need to talk about many things – "

Sherlock scrunched up his face. " – Please do tell me the next words out of your mouth isn't going to be 'of cabbages and kings.'"

Mycroft's eyes darkened now. "Stop acting like a juvenile and sit down at a table inside Speedy's before I take you to the hospital myself."

Sherlock looked almost challengingly at his older brother but felt too mentally exhausted and depressed to fight him anymore. He opened the door to the café and sat down at a table as he waited for Mycroft who had ordered them their late breakfast, early lunch.

He took a glance out the window and nearly cringed when it started to rain outside. After living in the area for so long, he knew he should be used to the rain but that didn't mean he had to like it. A part of him just wanted to just let it drown him, fill his lungs with water until he couldn't breathe. It almost seemed tempting enough; his thoughts trailed off to what it would be like to throw himself into the Thames, but he quickly banished those thoughts from his mind when Mycroft came back with two teas and two small lettuce and tomato sandwiches.

The sight of the sandwiches nearly turned Sherlock's stomach. He pushed the small ceramic plate away from him before he looked up to hear Mycroft sighing.

"You need to eat, Sherlock. I'm not fooling around with you anymore. If you do not eat, you will die. Is that what you what?"

Sherlock searched his face. "Stop asking me obvious questions that you already know the answers to, and ask the questions you don't know the answers to. I haven't got all day. So far, as far as I'm concerned, you're just wasting my time."

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and then leaned forward to avoid other tables hearing their conversation, perhaps out of embarrassment for his younger, mentally-ill brother. "Okay, dear brother, let's start with this one: What did Molly Hooper say about the blood and antidepressants results? Are your blackouts being caused by them?"

"No, they're not," Sherlock replied curtly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, waiting for the younger man to continue. "Well…? What is, then?"

Sherlock half shrugged and shook his head. "It's psychological. It's most likely from my depression. I doubt it's from any… repressed memories or whatever."

His brother straightened in his chair now. "Are you quite sure about that, Sherlock? Perhaps you should talk to a professional. It's truly surprising what some people remember under certain circumstances."

Sherlock clenched his jaw and tilted his head slightly to the side. "Do you know something I don't, Mycroft? Is there anything you'd like to share with your only brother?"

Mycroft's eyes looked conflicted for several moments before he laced his hands together. "Sherlock, what do you remember about… about our father?"

The younger man felt a certain panic fill his chest now, a panic that somehow was so foreign yet familiar at the same time. He had felt this panic before. He only remembered certain things about their father, like shards of glass. They were things that had only been told to him, though. That wasn't to say that he didn't remember his father, however.

"I know that our father was an alcoholic and that… h-he hurt our mother. I know that…" he trailed off, trying to rack his brain for memories. "He sometimes let me show him various experiments. It's been years, Mycroft. Do you honestly expect me to know every single detail about our childhood?"

Mycroft blinked a couple times and swallowed hard, looking a bit nervous. He sighed and as he did so, his shoulders slumped, almost in disappointment. "That is, indeed, interesting. I'm surprised you don't remember the root cause of your suicide attempts as well as your excessive drug use."

Sherlock glanced off to the side, unsurprised his brother knew about the attempts and could only guess who had told him; Lestrade. Of course it had been him. He was the worse at keeping secrets that involved Sherlock from his own brother. He felt uneasy and the panic he felt was building up.

"You can skip the theatrics anytime now, Mycroft. Whatever he did, is in the past and there's no changing it. Anyway, he's dead, so what difference does it make?"

Mycroft wet his lips and looked around the café a bit uneasily as he shifted himself in his chair. "Sherlock, I shouldn't be telling you this but I'm all too aware that you won't see a psychiatrist so alas, I'm left with helping you solve the greatest puzzle of them all."

"Puzzle? What puzzle? Repressed memories are not… puzzles, Mycroft. They're just that, memories. Anyway, you appear to be holding back information that could be useful in my remembering this. Please, do fill me in," Sherlock encouraged semi-coldly.

Mycroft was silent for a long time before he leaned forward again. "You are correct in your deduction that our father hurt our mother, but he also hurt you. He came home very heavily intoxicated most nights and he would physically hurt you. Sometimes… it was so bad that you had to be taken to hospital by mum, and she had to lie to the doctors. However, Sherlock, I must confess; this isn't just about father. This also involves his friend, the friend who always came to backyard gatherings and get-togethers, as well as… baby-sat us from time to time." He paused to gage his brother's reaction but when he saw the confusion, he continued.

"Trust me when I say that I am most uncomfortable telling this to you, mostly because of how unsettling it is and… how angry it made me when I found out. This man, our father's good friend, would…" Mycroft paused, trying to find the right words that wouldn't sound ridiculous but the whole situation had been ridiculous as well as incredulous in itself. It seemed impossible to find the right words. "He would inappropriately touch you, Sherlock. Every time he came over to our house, he would… get you alone somehow and he took advantage of you in the worst way imaginable."

Sherlock felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs and his eyes darted all over, feeling faint. He could feel his head moving from side to side but he felt like he wasn't even physically there. None of this made sense; it wasn't even logical. Finally, he heard a voice that sounded like his own.

"No… that didn't happen… you're… you're lying, Mycroft."

His brother closed his eyes and when Sherlock looked up at him, he saw the sincerity and sadness written all over his face. "I am… so very sorry, Sherlock. I wish I could say that I was lying and that I was making this all up but… that in itself would be a lie. I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now."

"No," Sherlock murmured. "You can't…"

The two brothers sat in an awkward and uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages, Mycroft staring unsurely at his brother while Sherlock seemed to stare off into nothingness. Finally, the elder brother spoke again.

"I'm not sure how you were able to not remember any of this but… you must admit, it explains your abnormal behavior, as well as your depression. Your mind was protecting itself. It also explains your random blackouts too. Maybe now some good can come out of this unfortunate incident – "

"Where were you?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and looked at his younger sibling. "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock finally forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. "Where were you when all of this was taking place, when that… monster was hurting me? Taking advantage of me… where were you? Why didn't you stop it? You were old enough! You could've done something."

Sherlock could feel hot tears running down his face but he felt so many emotions right now that he could barely feel himself crying, something he never wanted to do in front of his elder brother.

Mycroft looked taken aback, almost scared even as he saw this side of his brother. "I…I-I tried, Sherlock."

The younger man hit his fists down on the table. "Liar! You did not try, Mycroft! Just admit it! You didn't do anything!"

"I beg your pardon, Sherlock? Y-You're out of order… calm yourself right now, Sherlock, or I will walk out of this café…" Mycroft kept his voice down to a hushed whisper.

Sherlock shook his head again and clenched his jaw, trying to find words to what he was thinking or feeling, his mind spinning. "I-I can't handle this right now… I'm… I'm leaving."

Mycroft watched as Sherlock stood up and then ran out of the café and glanced out the window as he hailed a cab and disappeared towards St. Bart's Hospital.

.o.o.

.o.

When Sherlock arrived at the hospital, he threw a handful of notes at the cabbie before he jumped out and started running inside, his eyes red and puffy from sobbing and still not letting up that much. His thoughts were racing but he knew what he needed right now.

He needed sense.

He needed something to make sense.

Everything was falling apart around him and he felt like his body was going to explode, the pain in his chest almost stabbing and his breathing unstable and erratic. This had to be a panic attack. He looked frantically around and started down a hallway.

"JOHN! JOHN WATSON!" he nearly screamed, feeling like his body was going to collapse at any moment, his legs feeling heavy as lead.

He saw a familiar man exit one of the rooms and look in Sherlock's direction before he walked quickly towards him, his eyes wide. He took his face in his hands and started to quickly take in the younger man's appearance.

"Sherlock! You're pale, and… crying… here, come with me…" John took Sherlock by his hand and hurriedly led him into his own private office and shut the door before drawing the blinds. He helped Sherlock sit down but no sooner had he done that, the detective stood back up.

"N-No… I-I can't… I can't s-sit right now! You don't u-understand… I just… M-Mycroft told me… he told me!" Sherlock sobbed, the mind that was usually so organized and concise now a complete mess.

John felt anxious at his best friend's demeanor but he knew he had to be the voice of reason and calm right now. He took Sherlock's face in his hands again but this time attempted to hold it still, forcing him to focus solely on the doctor.

"Sherlock, listen to me, okay? You're breathing erratically and the oxygen can't work properly right now. You're most likely having a panic attack so you need to try and relax a little bit. Can you do that for me?"

"I… I-I don't know…"

"Breathe through your nose, and out through your mouth, Sherlock. You need to do this or you're going to pass out. The oxygen needs to get to your brain, so just breathe." John demonstrated the action for Sherlock and soon they were breathing together, although Sherlock's breathing was still shaky. "Good… that's it. You're doing brilliant, Sherlock. Just keep breathing, okay? Sit down…"

Sherlock barely felt John force him to sit in the chair across from his desk but he let him. It felt good to sit. He blinked several times, trying to get his bearings. He forced himself to focus on John right now, because John Watson seemed to be the only thing from blacking out or falling apart. He continued the breathing exercises and once he could breathe properly again, he put his face in his hands, his crying feeling annoying and unrelenting.

John grabbed his own chair and moved it in front of Sherlock, placing his hands on Sherlock's knees. "Whatever it is, we can handle this together. You're not alone, Sherlock… I promise you that. Just take your time."

Sherlock nodded and calmed his sobbing down to a whimper and occasional hiccupping. His whole face looked red and blotchy from his crying but he didn't care. That was irrelevant right now. He swallowed the lump back he felt in his throat and looked back up at John, his eyes still watery.

"M-Mycroft told me w-why I'm blacking out and what our father did to me a-and… what… w-what his mate did to me…" Sherlock trailed off and rubbed is eyes hard, as if he were trying to make the memory disappear. He shook his head again and he exhaled before he looked up at John with helpless, fearful eyes. "He sexually a-abused me, John… he got me alone e-every chance he had and… and he took advantage of me… oh God…"

John bit his lip and looked at Sherlock worriedly before he set his jaw and sighed heavily. "Sherlock… I… am so sorry. I don't even know what to say to make any of this better. I wish I could erase everything that happened to you."

Sherlock remained quiet as he just nodded in acknowledgment of John's sympathy, perhaps unsure how to respond to it. "T-That means a lot to me, John. Thank you… I just… I-I…" he struggled to find the proper words. Then, realization hit his face. "I…need you right now, John. I need you. I don't know what to do right now and I-I'm honestly terrified to be alone right now. I'm s-sorry. I know I'm interrupting your work but… I didn't want to go to Lestrade and he was too far anyway – "

John leaned in and gently pressed his lips against Sherlock's, an obvious attempt to make him stop talking. It felt something more to the detective, though. The kiss felt like the validation he needed as well as all the answers he could ever ask in the world. Once John pulled away, he remained close as he rested his forehead gently against Sherlock's.

"It's okay. It's all right. I don't mind you coming to me, at all. That's what I want you to do. I never want you to feel like you're alone in anything, Sherlock. Ever."

Sherlock nodded in understanding and closed his eyes. "Everything's so fucked up, John. I don't know what to do."

John was surprised to hear Sherlock swear but also hearing the rare curse word come out of Sherlock's mouth let him know how serious things were. "I know… it's going to be difficult but we're going to get through this. I would start you on a new dosage of different antidepressants but you haven't had the proper time to withdrawal from the other ones so…"

Sherlock cleared his throat and then slowly leaned back in his chair. "I haven't taken the other ones since we decided to do the tests on them. It's been nearly forty-eight hours. I think that's enough time to start different ones…"

John heard the deadness in the male's voice and felt his heart breaking. Sherlock usually had some type of enthusiasm for something, whether it was for a new case or a new murder. Hearing the 'nothing' in Sherlock's voice scared him.

"Err… yeah, right. Actually, let's see how you behave without the new ones, just for a week or so. They don't seem to help your blackouts and they just appear to make you feel worse. Call it an experiment; we'll just keep an eye on you but I want you to mark down when you're feeling depressed or… suicidal and if it's really bad, then perhaps we'll start you on some new medication. I think you just need some time to… process all the new information your brother told you," John thought aloud.

"What's to process? I was sexually abused by our neighbour. That's all there is to it…"

John shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry? It was you who came in here about ten minutes ago screaming my name and sobbing hysterically, wasn't it? No one gets over being told something like that in several minutes, not even you, Sherlock."

"Would you like to go out for dinner tonight or stay in and order something?" Sherlock stood up before he started to scroll through his phone for the number of the fish and chips place down the street.

John stood up as well but looked at Sherlock with confusion and uneasiness. "Sherlock, let's just… sit down for now and talk about exactly what Mycroft said to you, all right? There must have been more than what you've told me…"

Sherlock half-shrugged, almost as he would out of boredom but continued to play with his phone. "Details are boring, John. There's nothing else you need to know. That was it. Oh, and just that our father also physically hurt me growing up but… as far as I'm concerned, that's neither here nor there so it doesn't matter."

John couldn't stand it anymore. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's phone from him before he took a step towards the younger man. "Doesn't matter? Sherlock, you were abused by the two people you and your mother and your brother trusted the most. Why doesn't any of it bother you? It seemed to bother you earlier! You were in damn near hysterics over it. You were having a panic attack! You can't just pretend none of it matters…"

Sherlock searched John's face. "Can I please have my phone back now, John?"

"You need to admit that this is bothering you first, Sherlock. You just told me how messed up all of it is and now you're acting like it doesn't bother you! No, no one can go like that at a flip of a switch. You can be cold and a machine but not even you can pretend that you're just peachy keen when you're not! Tell me that this is affecting you and I'll give you back your phone," John promised, somewhat annoyed at Sherlock's lack of emotion.

"My phone, John…"

John smiled without humor and shook his head. "Showing some vulnerability is not a bad thing, Sherlock! Pushing all of it back down inside of you is just asking for trouble. It's going to build up and build up until you can't stand it anymore and I don't want anything bad to happen to you. Why can't we just talk about this?"

Sherlock took a step towards the doctor. "Because… I don't want to talk about this right now. I wish to forget it, so just let me forget it, John."

The younger man's tone sounded so agonizing pleading that John was hesitant to push the matter any further. Sherlock had been through enough for one lifetime. John knew he would have to broach the subject again in the near future but maybe he could just let it go for now.

"Fine, then. I won't mention it again today, but… you're going to have to think about it again, whether you like it or not." John reluctantly handed back the phone to Sherlock and then leaned in and kissed his lips again, this time more passionately.

He didn't want to lose Sherlock and after finding out about his past attempts, and then the horrible, nightmarish repressed memory he had been dreading for the past couple weeks, it became a real possible and real terrifying possibility that he might lose Sherlock Holmes to himself.